


Perfect Plan

by Caramelized



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Longing, M/M, Multi, Pining, Porn With Plot, Threesomes, but it's nice to concentrate on sylvix?, ends with just the two of them, felix has a mean streak but so does sylvain, none of the girls have names and yes i do realize that's problematic, zero story context at all so no spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-24 15:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20360701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caramelized/pseuds/Caramelized
Summary: Sylvain ropes Felix into a threesome. And then another. And a few more after that. Felix is into it, but tries to pretend he's not.***Sylvain remembers thinking, after Glenn died and Felix decided that his sword would be his new best friend, "He's grieving right now. But I'll have my friend back soon and then I'll tell him how I feel." And then, after the rebellion, "He's in shock. But I'll have my friend back soon and then I'll tell him how I feel."Now he knows the truth: He'll never have his friend back. He'll never tell him how he feels.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's the same story twice. 
> 
> Chapter 1 is Felix's POV, Chapter 2 is Sylvain's POV. There is some overlap, but they notice and react to different things.

It starts like any other day: Sylvain throws his arm around Felix's shoulder on the way to the bathhouse after a long day of training, head tipped to the side, voice conspiratorial. "A few of us are going out after we get cleaned up. You should come."

"No," says Felix. 

"Aww, c'mon." Sylvain gives his shoulders a friendly squeeze. "You need to loosen up. I swear, you'd be sooo much easier to get along with if you'd just get laid." 

"You know that saying? Give a man a hammer and every problem is a nail?" Felix replies. "That's you and your dick." 

"Maybe!" Sylvain laughs, winks at Claude, who's already on his way out of the bathhouse since archery classes are the first to end, over as soon as the light begins to fade. "Doesn't mean I'm wrong." 

"You are." 

"Well, what _are_ your plans for the night?" Sylvain asks, kicking off his shoes in the lobby and collecting a towel from the pile. "If we get back early, I'll stop by and say hello." 

"I thought I'd go swimming," he admits, leaving his shoes beside Sylvain's and taking the next towel in the pile. He enjoys swimming. The silence in the water, the... touch of it, the weight. And since doing laps works his arms and shoulders, improves his stamina, he can justify the indulgence. 

"In the reservoir?" Sylvain squawks. "With all the fish?" 

"The groundskeepers clean it every day," says Felix. "And the fish don't bite." 

Sylvain shakes his head, baffled. "If you say so." 

They enter the steam room. Wash away the stink of sweat, the crust of salt, emerge fresh and pink and new. Sylvain goes one way, preparing for a night out. Felix goes another, quiet and alone. 

A completely ordinary conversation. They'd had it, or one just like it, dozens of times since arriving at Garreg Mach. Old friends grow apart, become different people. Childhood ends, life goes on. 

Later, after he's eaten, spent a few hours in the library on the book work he couldn't avoid, Felix changes into his swim trunks and pads barefoot to the reservoir. The moon is high, the air chill, the water still warm with all the heat it absorbed during the long day. Early autumn, might as well be summer. Felix enters with a dive, all at once, and begins his laps. One after another; he never stops before he's done one hundred and rarely before he's reached two. 

He likes the silence. He likes the pressure, the resistance, the silky feel of being underwater. It is touch without questions or consequences or demands, without intimacy or emotion. He cuts through the darkness, lifts his head above the surface to take a breath, and-- 

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Sylvain, using his seductive voice. Sweet as a toothache. "Romantic, with the moon and the stars reflecting off the water." 

A girl, a voice Felix doesn't recognize, coos in response. 

Felix ducks his head under the water, kicks against the rough stone wall, shoots like an arrow across the reservoir. Lifts his head again as he reaches the opposite side, because he doesn't have a choice. 

Moans. Wet, smacking noises. They're kissing. 

Duck. Kick. Arms working, each stroke smooth and mechanical. Breathe.

"Do you hear something?" asks the girl.

"It's just the fish," Sylvain answers, punctuating each word with a kiss. "They're probably as excited to see you as I am. See? Feel that? Yeah, just like that. I bet they're hungry, too. I know I--"

Duck. Kick. Felix isn't as smooth as he ought to be; he finds his rhythm by sheer force of will. Reaches the opposite wall and stays low, under the water, until his lungs are burning and he has no choice but to breathe or drown. 

"Shouldn't we go inside?" The girl is panting now, no force behind her words. "What if someone sees us?" 

"We're all alone here." Sylvain's voice drops to a husky bass. "Don't you want to make love on the pier? Don't you deserve a setting as beautiful as this?" Then, crooning, "I want to taste the moonlight on your skin. I want to see the stars in your eyes when you come." 

The girl can't resist such pretty words. She sighs like a damsel from a courtly tale, but what follows is obscene: clothes rustle and the two bodies are easier to see once they're naked, pale flesh bared to the night. Sylvain coaxes the girl onto her back, wood creaking as they settle.

She caresses him, enraptured. Sylvain looks up, head swiveling as he searches the dark, and though he should not be able to see Felix, motionless at the edge of the pool with his body submerged, he does. Their eyes meet, or seem to. 

Felix is very, very aware of his erection. But it's hidden, doubly hidden, by the water and his shorts. He's safe.

"Baby, I'm going to make you feel so good," Sylvain promises, still looking at Felix. "You want that? You want me to make you feel good?" 

Felix ducks under the water. He kicks, swims, but he forgot to take a breath. He makes it halfway across the reservoir before he has to come up for air. He hears moaning, Sylvain saying, "_Delicious_, I could do this all night," and then Felix submerges again, hot and furious. 

He reaches the far wall. Clings to the wet stone, presses his forehead into it hard enough to leave an imprint on his skin, doesn't try to swim anymore. He listens. He hears it all: the girl's whimpering cries as she comes, her startled gasp as Sylvain penetrates her. Sylvain babbling praise until he can't anymore, because he's grunting with effort instead. His thrusts grow frantic, stacatto slaps that echo in Felix's ears. The girl squeals, arms scrabbling desperately against her lover's naked body, needy and clinging until she comes again and Sylvain can finally let go. 

Felix slips from the water while they pant through the aftermath. He moves silently, something he's very good at, slinking from shadow to shadow until he reaches the dormitory. He jogs to his room, locks his door, falls to his knees and fists his cock. He tries to keep his mind blank and fails. He hears Sylvain crooning, "Baby, I'm going to make you feel so good," and he hears Sylvain's grunts of effort and he comes so hard he blacks out.

***

The next day, Sylvain throws an arm over Felix's shoulder--same as always--and says, "So, have a nice swim?" 

Felix twitches loose.

Sylvain repeats the move, takes a firmer grip. Felix could throw him off, but he'd have to _throw_ him. Which he'd gladly do, except that he'd have to put his arms around Sylvain to get him on the ground. Grappling isn't for the shy. Not a problem, generally, but right now? Felix doesn't trust himself. 

"I hope so," Sylvain continues, friendly and companionable. "I had a great time. Met a nice girl, took her back to the monastery for some _alone_ _time_ but then, _strangest thing_"--Sylvain's voice goes low and velvety--"it turns out I really like having an audience." 

Felix grabs the wrist dangling by his chin. He twists, following the motion with his body, maneuvers Sylvain's arm behind his body and holds it pinned against his back, cranked to the point where a single wrong move will snap it like a twig.

"Hey!" Sylvain yelps. "Let's not get crazy here! Nobody got hurt, right? Let's keep it that way." 

"Listen, _asshole_," Felix snarls. "If you ever do that again--"

"I really want to do it again." 

"If you want to fuck over every girl in Fodlan that's your business." Felix torques the twisted arm a little, to communicate his feelings on the matter. "But you leave me out of it. Understood?" 

"I want to bring a girl back to your room," Sylvain whines. 

"Wrong answer." 

"Just leave your door unlocked." Sylvain is panting now, face all twisted up. "That's all you have to do." 

Twist. Yelp. "No," Felix says flatly. He releases Sylvain's arm and shoves the heel of his palm into Sylain's back, right over his kidney, and sends him reeling. "_Fuck_ no." 

He stalks away before Sylvain can recover. He is furious. He is disgusted. He wants nothing to do with Sylvain's insatiable _appetites_, his self-loathing rampage through the female population, his honey-coated lies. 

He is so angry that he forgets to lock his door that night.

Forgets. He _forgets_. 

***

He is in bed when they arrive. Lying on his side, facing the window, pretending to sleep. He has ordered himself to get up and lock his door repeatedly, and then used his tiredness as an excuse not to. He's so warm under the covers. So comfortable. He doesn't want to get up, and surely Sylvain doesn't have the energy to go fishing for strange women two nights in a row. Felix will remember to lock the door tomorrow and that will be enough.

He knows that he is lying to himself because he is not at all surprised when the door clicks. 

"There's someone in here!" the girl exclaims in a sharp, urgent whisper. A new girl, a new voice. 

Sylvain answers, wheedling as always. "I know, I told you--"

"He's asleep!" 

"He won't be for long." Sylvain chuckles. "Come on, where did we leave off?" 

"I'm not sure--"

"I am," Sylvain interrupts, close now. The mattress dips. "I'm positive." 

"But--"

"I thought you said you were into it?" Sylvain interrupts. "Two guys at once? A fantasy of yours?"

"It is, but--" The girl is uncomfortable now. If she'd been in the mood before, it's gone. "Two _awake_ guys." 

"We're going to wake him up," Sylvain promises. "But let's make it nice, right? Ease him out of one dream into a _better_ one." Sylvain's voice gets low, syrupy, seductive. "And when he sees you, naked and beautiful and right next to him? I promise, sweet thing, he won't believe you when you tell him he's awake."

Felix knows he ought to say something. _Stop. Enough. Go to your own room_. Instead he plays along. He pretends to sleep while Sylvain and the girl make out right next to him. Soon the girl is sweet and pliant and Felix shifts onto his back, blinks slowly as though he's been roused from slumber, finds himself looking into Sylvain's knowing eyes.

"We've got company," Sylvain murmurs. "Say hello?" 

The girl, head propped on his spare pillow, faces him. She likes what she sees. Felix can read that much in her eyes, though her smile is shy. 

"Hello, stranger," she says. 

"A _friendlier_ hello," Sylvain urges.

She touches his arm, skims her fingers down and takes hold of his wrist. She guides his hand to her breast, plants his palm on the ripe flesh. Still holding his wrist she takes a deep breath so that her breast overflows his cupped hand and he cannot resist the temptation to squeeze. 

The girl moans. Her eyes drift to half-mast. Felix looks to Sylvain, who has one hand busy between her legs and the other firm on her hip, his attention entirely fixed on Felix. 

Felix curls his upper lip into a sneer.

"How about a kiss?" Sylvain glances meaningfully at the hand Felix can't see. "I'll take care of the hard part. You can be the cherry on top." 

Felix doesn't move. 

"Hey, honey? Sweetness?" Sylvain's arm flexes and the girl releases a surprised, breathy moan. "Show him what you want. He won't be able to resist." 

She reaches for Felix's neck. That leaves his hand free but he doesn't reclaim it. He squeezes her breast again. She pushes it into his hand, he pushes back. She tugs his head close, their lips touch. Hers are soft and plush, a pillow for his mouth. Her tongue is hot, wet, eager. They are kissing--he sinks one hand into her silky hair, it parts like water around his fingers. Her whole body trembles from the pounding of her heart.

He does not think about Sylvain. He is like--like a bird trapped in a cloud--surrounded by endless softness, blinded by it, frightened but plunging ahead all the same. He grinds his cock against the girl's hip, excited by her startled gasp. He wants more--he wants her to touch him, her hands are so small, without a single callus-- 

A strong hand tangles in his hair, drags his mouth off of hers. Felix snarls reflexively; he doesn't like to be thwarted. 

"Just helping out," Sylvain says, then tugs. Hard. Felix turns a narrow-eyed glare on his friend, one hand already curling into a fist. He sees Sylvain crouched between a pair of plump thighs, his naked ass in the air, red hair a tousled mess, mouth and chin glazed with her arousal. 

Felix takes a deep breath. He feels--he feels--_anger,_ it has to be anger--and then Sylvain tugs again, forcing Felix's head around. It is level with her breasts now. He opens his mouth, drags his tongue over the girl's nipple, hears a whispered, oblivious, "Yes, yes," and his fury spikes again. But it fizzles; he is distracted. She is writhing, her back arching as she rocks her hips, makes desperate, anguished noises. 

Felix sucks at her nipple, he massages her other breast. He helps push her to the brink and over. But all along, out of the corner of his eye, he is watching Sylvain. Just like Sylvain, with his mouth thoroughly occupied, is watching Felix.

Felix figures his part is over. Next he'll be expected to lie quietly beside the pair while they fuck, maybe urge them on while he finds what satisfaction he can with his own hand. (It will be plenty, not that he'd ever say so.) 

He is wrong. 

After a minute, Sylvain is talking again. Gentle, coaxing, speaking only for the girl. "Push the covers down," says Sylvain. "That's right. Make sure my friend is hard. He is? How hard? Yeah? What do you think of his dick? Do you like it? Do you want to suck it?" 

The girl answers but Felix doesn't listen. He feels her hand on him, as soft and small as he'd imagined, and he feels her mouth, too, tentative at first, soft lips and humid air, a wet tongue flicking at the underside of his cock, before she closes her mouth around him and sucks. 

"I wish you could see his face," Sylvain continues, shifting the girl onto her knees. "He loves it. Oh, man, watching you suck him off is making me crazy. I've never seen anything hotter in my life. You're so fucking sexy. Just... take him a little deeper, yeah? More than that, you can... yeah, like that, fuck that's hot, I am so into you right now..." 

Sylvain does not mean a word he is saying. He does not care about the girl at all. Felix knows this. And yet, when Sylvain positions himself at the girl's entrance, pushes slowly inside of her, Felix cannot help a gasp of his own. He can almost feel it, Sylvain's hot slide into her body but also the girl's startled acceptance. Each slow thrust pushes her mouth deeper on Felix's cock. Indirectly, through the link of this anonymous girl, Sylvain is fucking _him_. 

And while Felix is surprised by this strange intimacy, Sylvain is not. Felix has never seen a look of such intensity on his friend's face, focused and deliberate like he ought to be on the training field, on the battlefield, but never is. Sylvain fucks her slowly at first. She moves with him, pliant and moaning on Felix's cock, a vibration that he feels all the way to his balls, the base of his spine. 

Felix is the first to break. He looks away; he refuses to understand what's written clear as day on Sylvain's face. He closes his eyes, shuts out everything but the sensation. A woman's mouth on his cock, sloppy and eager. That's all. He ignores the rhythmic advance and retreat, the jerk of momentum not her own, the familiar voice saying, "Just a little more, he's almost there, you look gorgeous with his cock in your mouth... most beautiful thing I've ever seen... so fucking perfect..." 

Felix comes harder than he ever has in his life. He is only half aware as the girl comes a second time, one forearm braced on his ribs as Sylvain fucks her, but he listens for the stuttering grunts that signal Sylvain's orgasm. Felix opens his eyes a slit, watching, then closes them again so he can pretend he didn't. 

The girl kisses him. He tastes himself on her, bitter and mineral, and says, "I'm sorry." 

"For what?" she asks. 

"Nothing," intrudes Sylvain. "He's confused--I think you really rocked his world. Probably down for the count. My room? Round two?" 

"It's late," she answers, rising from the bed. "I can't stay all night..." 

"I'll take you home. You shouldn't be wandering around alone at this hour. Here, is this yours? Do you need any help with the buttons?" 

Sylvain bundles the girl away. Felix lies still. He doesn't have a name for most of what he is feeling, has absolutely no desire to examine the tangled knot of emotions carefully enough to pick out individual threads, but he isn't tired at all. 

***

The next day, after training, Felix is exhausted. Even though he did not sleep at all, he pushed himself hard. Nothing can get in the way of his training. Nothing can interfere, nothing can distract him, no matter how much it hurts. He has no choice. If he fails, he will die. Or someone else will die, someone he could have saved, and that is unacceptable. 

Sylvain throws his arm over Felix's shoulders. Sylvain is tall, lanky, and he moves with a careless grace that makes such gestures seem natural. Felix realizes, as the weight of his friend's arm settles on his shoulder, that Sylvain only touched him once during the night: that brief moment when he'd grabbed Felix by the hair and tugged. Already today, during their single sparring match, they have had far more extensive contact with one another. In fact, at one time or another, Felix has had his hands on almost every part of Sylvain's body. Even his dick--once, briefly, by accident. And yet... 

"So," says Sylvain, cutting off his train of thought. "Not bad right?" 

Felix twitches Sylvain's arm loose and doesn't answer. He walks quickly but Sylvain has long legs and keeps pace with ease. 

Sylvain chatters on, undeterred. "Kinda fun? Bit of a good time?" 

They reach the bathhouse. Felix yanks his boots from his feet, puts them on the rack, grabs a towel. Sylvain does the same, follows him into the dressing room. 

"I thought you'd have loosened up a little bit by now," he says. Then, more cheerfully, "Maybe it'll take a few tries? If you're game, I am."

Felix undresses, wraps the towel around his waist, proceeds into the bathing room. He drops the soft cotton beside the nearest pool of hot water before sinking into it. Sylvain does the same, sits opposite in the same pool. This is not unusual. The baths are communal. Just like it would be polite to choose a different pool if one is occupied by strangers, it would be rude to choose a different pool if one is occupied by friends. 

Felix has seen his friend naked many, many times before. He has even _reacted_ to the sight, on occasion. Stirred, twitched, directed his attention elsewhere before the situation became awkward. Sylvain is, as he is so fond of observing, very handsome. Broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, long-legged. Beautiful thighs, with a gentle curve that--because he's so light on his feet--always puts Felix in mind of a gazelle. 

Felix has an erection. Sylvain is not looking, which means he has definitely noticed. 

Grimly, Felix recalls every single gruesome battlefield that he's walked since arriving at Garreg Mach. He forces himself to remember his brother's body in its coffin, one leg and one arm of his pristine uniform stuffed with balled up cloth because the limbs hadn't made it home. When the erection has subsided, he rises from the bath and grabs his towel. 

Sylvain also grabs the towel. He holds it in place, holds Felix still, long enough to say, "Tomorrow. If the door is unlocked..." 

Felix gives the towel a yank. He does not answer. 

He does leave his door unlocked. 

***

Felix does not sleep much over the next few weeks. Sylvain comes to his room every few days. The girl is never the same. The... configuration... is always different. Sometimes the girl sucks Felix off, sometimes he fucks her. Sometimes Felix pretends to be asleep, sometimes he is awake and waiting. Sometimes the couple arrives with a bottle of wine, sometimes they don't. 

Sylvain is always in charge. Never loud or aggressive--he sticks to wheedling and coaxing, getting what he wants with his soft voice and extravagant compliments--but he always knows what he wants when he arrives and he always gets it. He rarely touches Felix, never in a sexual way, but he doesn't have to. Sylvain is so present, so involved, that Felix cannot separate him from a single sensation. The girls are just... instruments. Tools.

During the day, Felix acts like nothing has changed. At night, it is harder and harder to pretend. This is because Sylvain won't let him. Felix always knows that Sylvain is the one who decides how and when he will feel pleasure. Just like he always knows that Sylvain is _reacting_ to his pleasure; goaded and encouraged and frenzied by it. 

But so long as they don't talk about these threesomes... so long as they all take place in the dark, in secret... so long as the girls are in between and Felix can pretend to be reluctant... he lets them happen.

***

And then, all of a sudden, the threesomes stop.

Sylvain doesn't bring them up. He throws his arm around Felix's shoulder at the end of the day, as usual, and he makes conversation. "How'd you beat Dimitri just now? I thought he had you for sure," or "Ingrid is really coming along, don't you think?" or "I wish they'd stop with the spicy food days, you're the only one who likes it." Normal conversation. No innuendos, no suggestions. 

At first, Felix is glad. He wants his days to remain focused, routine. At night, he catches up on sleep. He needs it. 

After a week, he starts to wonder what the delay is. Is Sylvain tired? He _has_ been doing most of the work--it can't be easy to find girls who fantasize about threesomes but don't insist on meeting the third member of said threesome before agreeing to it. Maybe he needs a break. Fair enough.

After two weeks, Felix realizes that the break is over. Sylvain is going out again. Making plans with Claude and Caspar and Raphael, venturing forth on his own, coming back late. Their rooms are not quite next to one another. If Felix leaves his door open a crack he can hear Sylvain returning in the wee hours, whistling softly to himself, drunk.

He tells himself that he is glad but this time it's not true. Proper self-deception requires a bit more plausibility. So, for the first time and only because he has no choice, he examines his feelings. He lets them swell up, unrestrained, so that he can tell them apart. 

He's feeling sad. And... disappointed. And... hurt. 

So. Those are his feelings. He stuffs them back where they came from. They'll go away if he's patient. 

He can be patient.

***

Another week passes. Two. It's been a month since the last threesome and Felix is feeling better. He is, after all, no stranger to sadness or disappointment or hurt. They're familiar, which makes them easier to bear.

Sylvain, on the other hand, is growing snappish. He throws his arm around Felix's shoulder at the end of the day, as usual. And then he says, "Did you really have to hit Leonie so hard? Sometimes you're a real bastard," or "Professor Byleth really had you eating dirt today. Fun to watch, man. _Fun to watch_." 

"The only way to improve is to fight people who are better than me," Felix replies, outwardly calm. "And I want to improve." 

"At killing people," Sylvain snaps. "It's the only thing you care about, isn't it? _Killing people_." 

Felix stops in the middle of the courtyard. He takes a deep breath. The other students amble past, a few of them casting curious glances their way. 

"If it's the only way to survive?" He hears too much in his own voice. He should stop talking. "If it's the only way to save y--others?" 

Sylvain's eyes narrow. They are the color of milk chocolate, a substance which Felix hates but most girls seem to love. Once he's had this thought, Felix has a strong desire to poke out Sylvain's eyes with this thumbs. It takes an effort to keep his arms still, at his sides. 

Sylvain steps into Felix's space. It's a threatening move, an aggressive move, and Felix is glad. He has a vision of his fist smashing into Sylvain's nose. Blood will spurt everywhere--on his knuckles, on his pristine white shirt. While Sylvain reels, Felix will get a grip under his arm, kick his leg out from under him and bump his hip. He will throw Sylvain to the ground, kneel over his prone body, and he will punch him again and again and again-- 

Sylvain kisses him.

Felix tries to break free, but he's startled and there's no force in it. Sylvain gathers him close, tilts Felix's head the way he wants it. Sylvain's mouth is large, his lips are firm, his tongue muscular. Felix is not prepared for this; he is stunned. He'd mixed up the girls with Sylvain. If kissing the one is _practically the same_ _as_ kissing the other, then surely... but no, it feels nothing alike. It is new.

"Why do you make this so hard?" Sylvain whines, walking him backwards, shoving his back against a wall. "Why can't you be normal--just one time? Is it really too much to ask?" 

Sylvain presses his whole body against Felix's whole body. He rubs up and down, leaning hard enough to squeeze the air from Felix's lungs. His hard cock, which Felix has seen thrusting into a woman's body or swallowed by a woman's lips, is like steel against his hip.

Felix does not reply. Most of the time, he knows how people _want_ him to behave. He chooses to do otherwise, on purpose, for reasons he would explain if given the opportunity. Not in this case. He has no idea what a normal person would do if one day, their best friend cajoled them into participating in many extremely intimate threesomes and then, just as suddenly, abandoned the practice. 

"I thought I'd have you on the hook, begging for more." Sylvain nips the lobe of his ear. "I thought I'd have you right where I want you." Sylvain whispers the next words, his voice raw with the cruelty which has always been the hallmark of his endless, meaningless sexual escapades, "_At my mercy_." 

Felix laughs, just as cruel. "In your dreams." 

"Yeah, I get that _now_." Sylvain's mouth crashes onto Felix's; they kiss like they are trying to fight. It does not feel good but it is very satisfying. Sylvain cuts his lip and it starts to bleed; he tries to wipe it clean on Felix's cheek. "I waited for you to get angry. You're always angry." 

"Not this time," says Felix, which sounds as mean as he could hope but it's just the truth. He hadn't been angry. He'd been miserable. 

Sylvain palms Felix's cock and groans. "How are we going to make it to your room?" 

Felix freezes. "Oh, fuck." 

Sylvain gives him a squeeze and his grip is strong; noticeably stronger than Felix's own. Because he's a lancer--lances are so heavy--swords are much lighter. Felix has to be nimble; Sylvain just has to be strong. And, thank the four saints, he _is_. It feels so good that Felix's eyes roll back in his head. 

"You like that?" Sylvain squeezes even harder. "You want a man handling your cock? You want it to hurt a little? I can do that. I can give you _exactly what you want_." 

Felix plants his palms on Sylvain's chest and shoves with all his strength. Sylvain stumbles, arms windmilling, eyes wide open and stark with shock. 

"My room," says Felix, adjusting himself as he walks past. "Remember?" 

Sylvain catches up. Skips ahead, spins, walks backward. "As soon as we get there I'm going to--"

"Stairs," says Felix.

"Looking out for me?" Sylvain hops backward down the stairs. "That's sweet of you." 

"Can't fuck in the infirmary." 

A huge grin splits Sylvain's face. "Wanna bet?" 

Felix glances at the looming bulk of the monastery to his left. The infirmary is on the second floor; his room is closer. "Focus, Sylvain." 

"Focus? I'll have you know--"

"Planter," says Felix. 

Sylvain dodges the planter. "--that I've wanted you--" 

"For a couple of months?" Felix interrupts. "I know. Impressive for a man with the memory of a goldfish." 

Sylvain snags Felix by the waist and pulls him into a kiss. A new kind: slow and deep and sweet. 

"For most of my life," Sylvain finishes. 

Felix blinks. That is... not something he'd expect Sylvain to say. To anyone. "Don't lie," he says, sounding feeble. Weak. Which he hates more than anything, and if Sylvain is doing this to him for a lark-- 

"For most of my life," Sylvain repeats, tugging on his arm, pushing him toward the shadowed entrance to the dormitory. 

"You sleep with anything that moves." Felix reaches for his key, takes the steps two at a time, fumbles as he fits it into the lock. 

Sylvain leans against the wall. "And why do you think that is?" 

Felix flicks a single, sharp glance at his friend before the tumblers click and the door swings open. "I have no idea." 

Sylvain follows Felix inside, kicks the door shut, and strips off his blazer. "I thought you liked girls!" 

Felix, who had a few seconds head start and used it to get his vest off, throws the garment at a chair and grimaces. "Why?" 

Sylvain props his shoulder against the wall and yanks at the buckles of his boot. "Because I didn't think you liked boys!" 

Felix can feel his whole face wrinkling up like an apple left too long in the cellar. "Why not?" 

"Because you never like anyone!" Sylvain gets his boot off, throws it at the chair, and then starts on the other foot. "How was I supposed to know?"

Felix counts silently to ten and then, flatly, out loud, "You could ask."

"I did." Sylvain gets the other boot off, sends it flying after the first. "You told me to go fuck myself." 

He doesn't remember the conversation but, "Sorry." 

"It's for the best." Sylvain starts on his shirt. "Now I'm so good in bed you'll never want anyone else. Perfect plan." 

Felix tosses his shirt on top of Sylvain's and gets to work on his belt. He snorts. 

Sylvain pauses, cocks an eyebrow. "Don't believe me?" 

Actually, he kind of does. "I'm reserving judgment." 

"You are such an asshole." Sylvain drops to his knees, reaches into Felix's half-unbuttoned trousers, frees his cock and takes as much as he can into his mouth. It's a lot, and there's no toying around. Sylvain sucks, cheeks hollowing, and Felix's knees turn to water. He'd have stumbled if Sylvain hadn't threaded their hands together, fingers intertwining. Somehow that's enough to keep him upright. 

Felix is gasping, eyes closed, head tipped back, when Sylvain releases him with a wet pop. "Finally figured out how to make you shut up," he taunts, walking Felix backward to the bed. 

That's intolerable--mostly because it's true--and Felix retaliates. He spins, twists, bumps his hips into Sylvain's at just the right moment to send him toppling onto the bed. Sylvain pulls him down, too; they wrestle. Or Felix wrestles, since it turns out Sylvain is just maneuvering him into position. They're lying on their sides, heads pointing in opposite directions, when Sylvain braces himself and takes Felix's cock into his mouth again.

Felix hisses, startled, then does the same. It's... strange. It is not comfortable to have a cock cranking his jaw wide and nudging insistently at his throat, but it turns him on. A lot. He licks and sucks, takes so much he gags and sputters, does it again. He cannot help himself; he feels drunk. So does Sylvain, apparently, since he is whimpering frantically around Felix's cock. 

Felix understands those noises when bitter liquid floods his mouth. Sylvain had been trying not to come; trying to hold back. Felix swallows, quickly, and lets his head drop to the mattress. But soon it's his turn--he clings to Sylvain's leg, bites his thigh--it is taut and firm and feels good on his teeth--and then everything goes white and he is briefly afraid that he has died. 

Sylvain shoves and prods at him until Felix's back is resting against his chest. He loops an arm around Felix's chest, sighs happily.

"We're gonna do this every night," Sylvain says, sleep slurring his words.

"No, we're not." 

Sylvain nuzzles his nose into Felix's neck. "Every night."

"We'll see, goldfish." 

"This is my bed now."

Felix groans. People who don't listen are hard to argue with. 

"Gonna have so much sex in my new bed," Sylvain adds. 

Felix stiffens despite himself.

"With you." Sylvain bites his neck. "Idiot." Then a yawn. "Just as soon as..." Deep, peaceful sigh. "...I wake up." 

Felix lies awake for a little longer. Maybe it is Sylvain's bed now. Maybe he can't resist for very long. But he can make Sylvain work for the privilege, and that thought is pleasant enough to ease him into a peaceful slumber. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same as the first chapter but from Sylvain's POV.

Here's the thing: it sucks to be in love with Felix Hugo Fraldarius.

If Sylvain could choose _not_ to be in love with Felix, if some savant researcher--like Hanneman, but for love spells--told him, "Sylvain, I would like to recruit you as the guinea pig for my dangerous experiments. There is a ten percent chance that I will fry your brain like an egg but a thirty percent chance that I will quench that pesky torch you've been carrying for your best friend, what do you say?", Sylvain would answer, "Sign me the fuck up," without a moment's hesitation. Thirty plus ten equals a forty percent chance of getting what he wants most in the world. Totally worth it. 

Well what he wants most... other than Felix himself. But that's never going to happen. He remembers thinking, after Glenn died and Felix decided that his _sword_ would be his best friend from now on, "He's grieving right now. But I'll have my friend back soon and then I'll tell him how I feel." And then, after the rebellion, "He's in shock. But I'll have my friend back soon and then I'll tell him how I feel." 

Now he knows the truth: He'll never have his friend back. He'll never tell him how he feels. 

***

Sylvain loses his virginity on his seventeenth birthday. Miklan collects him after the lavish family dinner and takes Sylvain to a brothel. He says Sylvain he can choose any of the girls, stay as long as he wants, and Miklan will pay for it. He says this is what older brothers are for and promises it will be their secret. 

Sylvain falls for it. He spends the whole night with a busty blonde and it's wonderful. The woman is _kind_. Sylvain never feels embarrassed or awkward, not for a second, and sex makes all the other hurts go away. For few hours, he's not worrying about Dimitri, all alone in the capital grieving his parents. He's not missing Felix or wishing he could make Ingrid feel better. He forgets that his family is a nest of vipers. 

The next morning, Sylvain finds out that Miklan left a few minutes after Sylvain went upstairs with the blonde. He did not pay the bill and Sylvain does not have any money with him; Miklan told him he wouldn't need it. The Madame sends a messenger to collect the fee from Margrave Gautier while Sylvain waits in a small break room and tired prostitutes in shabby robes cast him looks that are alternately pitying and contemptuous.

Eventually, the messenger returns and Sylvain can go home. His father lectures him for hours; he is not mad, he's disappointed. Very, very disappointed.

Sylvain learns several valuable lessons that night:

1) Trust is for suckers.

2) Tell someone what they want to hear and they'll believe it. In this case, Sylvain. In the future, though? Girls. 

3) Sex is great. He should do it more often. 

***

Sex _is_ great. He does it a _lot_ more often. 

But it's never quite the same. The world doesn't go away like it did that first time. Kind of the opposite. It turns out that his Crest, the bane of his existence, is better at attracting women than anything he actually _does_. Charm works okay. Compliments and a snappy outfit can get him a date. Sometimes more. Meanwhile, his Crest seals the deal 100% of the time. No effort required.

Sex is a microcosm of everything that's wrong with his life. It's fun while it lasts, but mostly it makes him feel like shit. 

***

Sylvain thrives on negative attention--it's his coping mechanism #1 and somehow Ingrid never learns, which is strange because usually she's pretty smart--but even _he_ can tell that his relationship with Felix is headed for the dustbin. Half the time, Sylvain is convinced that Felix hates him. And, if he's being honest with himself, half the time he hates Felix right back.

And that's how it starts. That's how it _really_ starts. Sylvain is tired of loving someone who will never love him. He's ready to be done. He wants the Hanneman of love spells. Failing that? He wants the point of no return. 

They're sparring. Sylvain has the advantage in height and reach, he has a weapon that _enhances_ those advantages, and he ought to be winning. But Felix is so fast that the only way to hit him is to forget about where he _is_ and aim for where he's _going to be._ Unfortunately, he's so skilled that he's impossible to predict. And to complete the trifecta, Felix is so goddess-damned _mean _that he finishes Sylvain off with a vicious whack that leaves Sylvain flat on his back with a broken rib. 

Professor Byleth sends for Manuela. Meanwhile, Marianne and Lorenz step in to help--both have been training with lances, despite being more proficient with magic. They carefully remove Sylvain's armor, push aside his blazer and cut through his white shirt. Marianne searches tentatively for tender spots. Sylvain screams like a banshee when she finds one and Marianne flees, leaving Lorenz to cast a thoroughly inadequate heal spell. 

Finally Manuela arrives to cast a proper healing spell. Sylvain sits up warily and Manuela--with a wicked little smile--says, "That shirt is _ruined_. You might as well take it off and let me do a proper examination." 

"Here?" Sylvain asks. 

"Or the infirmary if you'd prefer. But it'll take longer to walk all the way there than to check you over now. Up to you." 

So Sylvain shrugs his blazer and his ruined shirt off his shoulders. After poking and prodding at his bare chest, Manuela pronounces him healthy and takes her leave. By then, class is wrapping up. Sylvain bends double, grabs his blazer--the shirt's a lost cause--and flips it into position as he reaches high to slide his arms through the sleeves. As he's doing this, his attention wanders to Felix. It always does. 

Felix is returning his sword to the training rack. He slots his weapon into place and pauses, still mostly facing the rack. Mostly. His head is angled just enough to keep Sylvain in view and, apparently convinced that this is sufficient subterfuge, his lets his gaze skate from Sylvain's neck down to his feet and then back up again.

Sylvain knows that look. He's seen it many, many times before. He's been the looker at least as often as he's been the lookee. Even though he's never seen Felix give _anyone_ that look, even though he stopped believing Felix would look at _him_ that way a long time ago, there's no room for doubt. Felix is checking him out. Deliberately, secretively, and lasciviously. 

If it had happened when they first arrived at Garreg Mach, during those halcyon days when Sylvain had foolishly believed they'd all be getting a fresh start, he would have been thrilled. He'd have asked Felix out on a date. Pulled out all the stops. Dressed to impress, changed his sheets, daydreamed about matching rings. But today, after being knocked on his back by a 'friend' who insults him on the daily? The look still hits him like a bolt of lightning. His hands tremble; his dick gets hard. And he thinks, clearly and distinctly, _I will destroy you_. 

***

He invites Felix out. Felix declines. He asks what Felix plans to do, all alone at the monastery. Swim in the reservoir. Okay. Kinda weird, but he can work with it. He finds a girl; this is as easy as breathing for him by now. He takes her back to Garreg Mach, shows her the pier, feeds her some lines. 

Felix is not easy to find. He's silent as ever, rarely breaks water, and his hair is a shade of midnight made for blending with the night. But Sylvain can just make out his pale chest as it slices back and forth, the ripple and whisper of air as he takes a breath. 

Time for a test. 

He kisses the girl, fondles her, gets her nice and hot. She's been pretty eager from the start, which is handy because he's not giving his best. He spreads their clothing over the weathered wood before he lies her down on it, because he may be a jerk but he's not sending a willing woman home with an ass full of splinters. And then he makes sure she comes first because, again, he may be a jerk but there are limits. 

At first he's afraid Felix left while he was going down on the girl. That's the worst moment of the night. Sylvain's heart lodges in his throat; his eyes burn. But then he sees a sliver of white at the edge of the pool, recognizes the shape of Felix's jaw. Felix is clinging to the stone, unmoving.

Listening.

The fear drains away. All of a sudden he is so _fucking_ hard. He takes himself in hand, squeezes. He's not imagining it. He's _never_ been this hard before. Holy shit.

He manages to maintain eye contact as he enters the girl, but it's a challenge. He doesn't want to look at her. Doesn't want to think about her. He is aware that he is using her in an especially vile way. It is low, even for him. Making her come again will even things up, right? Eh, close enough.

The second her eyes drift shut, he stops looking at her. He watches Felix, even though there's nothing to see. Felix doesn't move. He doesn't bob or sway in the water. He hardly seems to breathe. He could leave so easily, but he doesn't. He has to be turned on. Hard? Yeah, definitely. He's probably so hard it hurts, his balls aching. _Touch yourself_, Sylvain thinks. _Come on, I know you want to. Go ahead. Do it_.

But Felix doesn't touch himself. Too much discipline to go at it when he knows someone's watching. He must jerk off, though. When he's alone and there's no one around to see him--_gasp_\--enjoy himself. Does he hurry through it? Is he scowling when he wanks, just as desperate to get it over with as he seems to be with every other form of human contact? Does he hate his own hand when he's touching himself? 

The girl beneath him comes, thank all four saints, because for some reason Sylvain is about to lose it. He lets himself go. The next time he looks Felix is gone. 

***

The next day, he is not surprised when Felix twists his arm. He is not surprised when Felix cranks it to emphasize a point. He is a little surprised that Felix doesn't actually break any bones. 

Sylvain makes his offer. While he is saying, "leave your door unlocked, that's all you have to do," he is thinking, clearly and distinctly, _I will destroy you_. 

***

When he arrives that night with a girl on his arm, Felix is pretending to be asleep. _Coward_, Sylvain wants to say. _Admit that you want this_. It is the first time in Sylvain's life when he could have called Felix a coward and meant it. 

The girl is understandably upset about barging in on a sleeping man. Sylvain scrambles to keep things moving until High Lord Felix deigns to open his weary eyes. But finally he does, and the girl is suitably impressed because Felix is sleek and elegant and so beautiful that Sylvain still catches his breath sometimes at the sight of him. 

That's when things start to go wrong.

First of all: Felix likes the girl too much. The look of quiet awe on his face when she puts his hand on her breast makes Sylvain want to _howl_. It is so honest and so vulnerable. _Why can't you look at me like that?_ Sylvain wants to scream. _Why won't you ever look at me like that?_ And then, as though in answer, Felix does look at Sylvain. And sneers. 

_I will destroy you_. Sylvain promises himself, again and again. When Felix kisses the girl tenderly, like she's lovely and precious. When Felix grinds against her hip, clumsy but eager. When he turns on Sylvain and snarls like a wild animal. _I will destroy you_. 

Anything else would hurt too much.

Sylvain makes the girl come. He does it properly, too, really wrings her out. He is hoping to make Felix feel inadequate but, obviously, does not say so. That would spoil his plan. Instead, he cajoles the girl into giving Felix a blowjob. At his urging, she pushes the sheets down and gives him his first unobstructed view of Felix's hard cock. It is long, straight, proportionate, the veining unusually subtle. _Pretty_. Sylvain wishes he could tell Felix what he's thinking. Call his cock _pretty_. Felix would be furious and Sylvain would enjoy coaxing him out of his snit.

These thoughts make him sad, so he shoves them aside. 

The girl takes Felix in her mouth. She's obviously inexperienced, which irritates Sylvain. What's worse, though, is that Felix doesn't mind. He's _delighted_. Blissed out, as peaceful as Sylvain has ever seen him. Sylvain swallows his rage and coaches the girl into shape. It takes too long but eventually Felix begins to tense up and Sylvain can position himself, thrust inside. 

That's when the evening, which has thus far been about as pleasant as stabbing himself in the eye with a fork, takes a turn. The girl is slick, more than ready, and Sylvain slides in easily. He hits bottom, rocking her body gently forward. Felix feels it. He gasps. His low-lidded eyes open wide. He looks at Sylvain; Sylvain looks back. They are looking into one another's eyes as Sylvain pulls out, thrusts again, sets a steady rhythm. 

Felix's expression is open and vulnerable, easy to read. Surprise gives way to fear, fear wars with longing. Everything is so clear that it's on the tip of Sylvain's tongue to say _I love you. I have loved you for so long and right now, for the first time in years, I don't want to stop._

Felix closes his eyes, turns his head away. Sylvain feels like he has been slapped--no, worse. The broken rib hurt less.

He finishes as quickly as possible; he can't take much more. As he walks the girl home, he tells himself that everything is going according to plan. By the time he's done, the only thing between himself and Felix will be scorched earth. They reach the cottage where she lives. It's so late that the local roosters are already awake. Sylvain waits for her to go inside. She pulls back a curtain and waves; he waves back, retraces his steps. When he reaches the empty stretch of road between the town and the fortress walls, he lets himself cry. 

***

The plan, in case it is not clear, is to give Felix what he wants and then take it away.

Felix has slowly but surely excised all pleasure from his life. He thinks this makes him invulnerable but Sylvain is fairly certain it makes him fragile. Felix has spent four years bottling everything up. All his wants, all his desires, everything that makes life worth living. He's been at it for so long he hardly knows what he's missing anymore. If he let himself feel, he'd realize that he's starving his own soul.

So. The plan. Give him a taste of the good stuff. Loosen up the cork keeping the bottle sealed. Once his appetites are all riled up, walk away and wait for the explosion. 

Everything Felix has repressed will flood back up at once. He won't know how to cope; he'll crack. Or, better yet, _break_. 

That's the theory, anyhow. So far, it seems sound. 

***

Alternatively--he does not let himself think about this very often but _alternatively_, Felix will crack. All his feelings will leak out, including but not limited to his intense romantic love for Sylvain. Sylvain will return the sentiment and they'll live happily ever after.

This seems unlikely. But how else would he find out if Felix cares? It's not like he'd ever volunteer the information.

***

The second and third times Sylvain brings a girl to Felix's room, he is pretending to sleep when they arrive. On the fourth, he is awake. Dressed casually in trousers and a singlet that shows off his arms and shoulders. They are worth showing off: surprisingly solid, sharply defined. His hair is freshly brushed, smooth and shiny as a crow's wing, and he smells of exotic spices.

He has anticipated their arrival. He has made himself pleasing. Sylvain feels like he is being stabbed through the heart. 

Felix greets them calmly. He tries to put the girl at ease but he is not very good at it. That's fine; Sylvain keeps things moving along. He fetches a bottle of wine from his room and, after drinking two glasses much too quickly, he tries something risky. Something that has nothing to do with the plan.

He encourages Felix and the girl to kiss. Once they are absorbed in one another, Sylvain positions himself behind the girl. He kisses her neck, murmurs soothing words in her ear, reaches across her body and plants one hand on either side of Felix's waist. Felix shivers like a nervous horse; it is delicious. Sylvain holds Felix steady and rocks his hips into the girl's ass, squeezing her between them. _She_ melts like butter in the sun. Felix stiffens and quickly twitches free. 

Even with the girl between, it's too close to a real embrace. Too much like affection to be tolerated. 

***

It is around this time that Sylvain lands in the infirmary. Seteth sent them to deal with some bandits. They are more numerous than expected, better trained and equipped than they ought to be. Sylvain is injured defending Felix, who has been surrounded. They both survive; all is well. 

It isn't until Felix storms the infirmary, frothing with rage because Sylvain _dared_ to take a hit meant for him, that Sylvain realizes something odd has happened. He doesn't dwell on the battles. When he's fighting, he gives his all. Afterwards, he doesn't want to think about it. But after Felix finishes ranting and storms off in a huff, Sylvain can't help it. He dwells. 

Sylvain rides a horse into battle. In general, the cavalry move as a group. Felix is on foot and ought to be guarding the mages, who are incredibly vulnerable if left alone. They shouldn't see much of one another once they've taken the field. Felix should not have been close enough for Sylvain to save.

But lately, Felix is always nearby. Always in line of sight. Always... looking out for him?

***

Sylvain is more in love than ever. He is surprised by this and very much wants to complain about it, but (a) all the people he could complain to are also friends with Felix and (b) he's fairly sure they'd laugh at him. He can almost see Ingrid rolling her eyes, hear the exasperation in her tone as she throws up her hands and exclaims, "What did you _think_ would happen, Sylvain?" 

Nothing, actually. He thought nothing would happen.

He's never had sex with the same person more than a handful of times. Which seems perfectly normal to him and ought to seem perfectly normal to everyone else. When he tells someone that he's seen a great play, no one asks, "So when are you going to see it again?" They say, "Wow you love theater." Same thing. Go out, have a great time, applaud if appropriate, then go home. Show's over. Time for something new.

He's never had sex with someone he cared about. He started having sex with Felix so he could _stop_ caring about him, so Felix would hate him like everyone else he's ever slept with, so he could move on with his life. 

But now he's seen Felix open and vulnerable. Sleepy and content. Chasing after his own pleasure with all the dreadful focus he brings to a sparring match. Sometimes Felix is sweet in bed, hesitant and gentle. Sometimes he's brutal; in the right mood, he'll fuck a girl so hard that hours later, when Sylvain walks her home, she minces the whole way. He has seen sides of Felix that he never expected, others that he always knew were there. He knows Felix better than ever and it is not enough. Not even close. 

He will destroy both of them. 

***

Sylvain brings a girl to Felix's room. Felix is sitting on his bed with his sword in his lap, whetstone in hand, honing the edge of his blade. Sylvain looks around. There are three books on Felix's desk, all open, piled one on top of the other. A pair of gauntlets are hanging by their wrist straps from the back of his chair, freshly polished. He's been waiting, trying to keep himself busy but unable to focus.

Sylvain's heart sinks. This is what he was waiting for. Eagerness has evolved into impatience. Desire has grown into need. 

Felix's head lifts. He glances at the girl, gives Sylvain a longer look. One corner of his mouth lifts in a smile and he says, "Finally. Hope you have something interesting planned." 

Sylvain hugs the girl's back against his front. He says, "I bring you a goddess with a smile as beautiful as a sunrise, the neck of a swan and"--he begins to unbutton her blouse, spreading the fabric as he goes--"forgive me for being crude, sweetness, but breasts like a pair of ripe grapefruits, and you ask if I have anything interesting planned?" 

Felix rises to his feet. He leaves the whetstone on his desk, slides the sword into its sheath. 

"I think we should teach him a lesson," Sylvain murmurs. A single button fastens her skirt at the waist. He slips it loose, lets the fabric pool on the floor. "How would you like it if I make you come right here, like this? And my very, very rude friend will have no choice but to watch, and think about what he's missing?" 

The girl giggles. "You're so _mean_." She guides his hand between her legs. "So _bad_." Her breasts are on display but her shirt is long enough to hide her sex from view, for the most part. "I _like_ it." 

Sylvain fingers her slit; already wet. He finds her clit and cycles through a few different styles of rubbing and flicking until she jolts in his arms. Palms one of her breasts as he gets to work, rolling the nipple between two fingers. It's all second nature by now, rote. 

Felix catches Sylvain's eye. Smirks. And begins to peel off his clothes. It's nothing like the teases Sylvain has seen in the past--Felix isn't coy or playful. But every movement is clean and crisp and riveting. The way he kicks aside his trousers and stands straight, at ease in his skin and dripping with arrogant grace... Sylvain has never been so turned on in his life. He can't look away. By the time Felix is naked, Sylvain is beside himself. He's panting in the girl's ear, grinding on her ass, desperate for the friction. 

Felix walks up to them. The girl is dripping all over Sylvain's fingers; coming along nicely, but not there yet. 

"Are you going to let him decide for you?" Felix leans in for an open-mouthed kiss, gropes her roughly. He bites her lip as he pulls away and says, in his lowest, meanest voice, "Do what you want. _Take_ what you want." 

The girl comes in seconds. _Seconds_. It's unbelievable. She shrugs out of Sylvain's arms, walks Felix backwards to the bed, shoves him onto his back and grabs his dick as she climbs on top of him. Completely wild. While she rides him like a bucking bull, Felix looks over at Sylvain and cocks a single eyebrow. 

"You fucker," Sylvain mouths, but inside he is... golden. As happy as he's ever been. 

Felix bites his lip. He looks away, chest hitching with the laughter he's suppressing. Sylvain has never loved him more and he never will, because that's the end. The last time. No more. 

***

Felix is fine.

He does not crack. He does not break.

He is fine. 

***

Sylvain is not fine.

He is a wreck and doing a pretty bad job of hiding it. He tries to go back to normal, but it's not fun anymore. He drinks more than he should. He shows up to class with hangovers and does poorly on tests and cringes when Professor Byleth looks at him with too much sympathy and asks what's wrong and would he like some tea? Maybe he'd feel better after a chat. 

Sylvain declines. His schedule is full. 

Somehow, nothing has changed. Felix is cool and unreachable, just like before. Sylvain is a mess, just like before. He is still in love and it still feels hopeless.

He deeply resents Felix's ability to move on. It's offensive. But the only thing he can do is snap at him, needle him. Try to knock him off balance. It never works and Sylvain always walks away feeling even worse, but he can't help himself. Something has to happen. He can't go on like this. 

Which is how he ends up saying, "It's the only thing you care about, isn't it? Killing people?" He doesn't mean it--his mouth is running much faster than his brain--but he's probably hoping Felix will hit him. Maybe Felix will finally say that he's done, he's had enough, Sylvain is dead to him. If he does, _he'll_ mean it. 

But Felix never does what Sylvain wants, now or ever. Instead of yelling, he takes a deep breath. Says, "If it's the only way to survive?" And then continues in a voice that is thick and uneven, "If it's the only way to save y--others?" 

It's not hard to guess which word he skipped. 

The words remind Sylvain of something he has been trying not to think about: Felix is still nearby every time they battle. Line of sight, shouting distance, always closer than he ought to be. 

Sylvain literally tried his best to break his best friend. Felix probably knows it, or suspects, but he's still out there trying to save Sylvain's life. Still training incessantly, still willing to take a hit so that Sylvain doesn't have to.

Sylvain cracks. Everything he understands about the last few months shatters, rearranges itself in a different pattern. All those times he wanted to say 'I love you'? He could have. All those times he slammed against Felix's walls, retreated, tried again and found them smaller and thinner? He could have kept doing that until they were gone. 

He gave up too soon.

Felix is finally ready to punch Sylvain, which is a shame because Sylvain is after something different now. He kisses Felix. He is graceless; he has wanted this for too long to be smooth. "Why do you make this so hard?" he whines, shoving him against the nearest wall. "Why can't you be normal--just one time? Is it really too much to ask?" 


End file.
